


TFA ficlets

by K_dAzrael



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Feminization, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Medical Kink, Spanking, adult baby roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: Collection of kylux and kylux-adjacent ficlets I originally posted to tumblr; now archived for ease of reading.





	1. The Mad Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the [Mountebank](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9552800/chapters/21599156) 'verse, wherein Hux is not a doctor but likes to play pretend.

Kylo ran up the steps to the front entrance of Starkilly Place and rummaged in the pockets of his black duster coat for the set of keys. He struggled for a moment, not having Hux’s knack for the finicky lock, but it eventually gave and he pushed his way inside, tromping down the hall and into the living room, throwing himself on the down-stuffed three-seater couch. The pillows deflated under his weight and he sank into the fabric until he was all but encased.

There came the tinkling of a bell and a  _mrrrp_  noise. Kylo grunted when a ginger and white cat jumped directly onto his stomach.

“God you weigh a ton!” he complained, gazing into the animal’s green eyes. The cat walked up his body to sniff at his face, purring and sending out gusts of tuna breath that made him laugh and turn his face aside.

“How dare you,” came a voice from the doorway. “She’s just well-made, aren’t you Millie?”

The cat hopped off Kylo and ran to her master, winding around his legs and head-butting him.

Kylo raised himself on his elbows with some difficulty and looked over at Hux, who was in socked feet, jeans and a button-down – his working-from-home ensemble.

Kylo grinned stupidly. “Hey.”

“What have I told you,” Hux came around to the foot of the couch to give him a stern glare, “about your dirty great goth boots on the furniture?”

“They’re not on the furniture,” Kylo retorted. His ankles were resting on the arm of the couch, the boots themselves hanging over empty air. “And they’re not goth boots. They’re DMs, more punk than anything.”

“Hmm,” Hux went to work unlacing them and pulled the boots off in a sharp, efficient motion, one after the other. He stared critically at Kylo’s big toe where it poked out through a hole in his sock. “And what did I tell you about shopping at Primark? It’s false economy.”

“Hey,” Kylo beckoned him, “c’mere a minute.”

Hux gave a put-upon sigh and climbed onto the couch. He put his knees either side of Kylo’s body and then lowered himself down until his was lying on top of him like a blanket. Kylo put his arms around him, one hand resting spread out over Hux’s back, the other on the pert little curve of his butt, patting it reassuringly through the thick denim. Hux sighed and Kylo followed suit, then they lay there in silence for a long moment, Kylo feeling Hux’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek whenever he blinked.

“How was your day?” Hux asked eventually.

Kylo had cooked up quite the rant on this subject on the way over – a series of righteous and cutting remarks about the unfairness of his academic mentor; the incompetence of the manuscripts department; the idiocy of the bookshop customers who expected him to know what tacky thriller they were talking about despite the lack of an author or title – but now that he was here, warm and weighed down by the presence of the person he loved, it all seemed unimportant; not worth ruining the quiet and contentment for.

“Ok,” he said. “You?”

Hux let out a long sigh – ticklish as the cat’s, but considerably more fragrant. “My father called. He’s coming to visit in a few weeks.”

“Well shit.” Kylo rubbed Hux’s back. “I mean, that sucks.”

“You don’t have to meet him or anything, don’t worry.”

“I will if you want me to. I’ll punch him in the face if you want me to.”

Hux snorted. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

“Chivalry is my area of expertise.”

Hux folded his arms across Kylo’s chest and raised himself to look down at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hux reached out with one finger, drawing it down Kylo’s scar. “Just admiring you, my brave champion.”

“Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not. Well, only a little.”

“Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“Know about me. Like, that you’re seeing someone?” Kylo knew little about Hux’s father, except that their relationship was acrimonious in a particularly British way that looked like politeness on the surface.

“No. I don’t tell him personal things.”

“Does he know you’re gay?”

“Yes, but not because I’ve had a frank talk about it with him. I’ve gathered that he knows from certain… insinuations.”

“Is he a homophobe?”

“Yes and no. It wouldn’t matter at all, you understand, if I were successful according to his metric. But since I’m not he must suspect it’s some kind of symptom. Underperforming glands; lack of masculine go-gettingness.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I know that! I’m telling you what he thinks, down in the depths of his crabbed Victorian soul.”

Kylo hugged him tighter for a long moment and then they both relaxed; Hux gave a drowsy sigh.

“Hey,” Kylo said, “I’ve thought about that, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“Victorian doctors. You know… all the weird shit they used to do – injecting guys with monkey glands to see if it made them more virile.”

“Go on,” Hux said, fitting one slim thigh between Kylo’s thicker ones.

Kylo felt his pulse quicken. “Uhh, that’s all I’ve got really. But you know how much I like it when we do the boner pill experiment–”

“I have never called it that!”

“Yeah, but you know the one I mean.” Kylo flushed.

“The drug is designated EX-1B and you are in the  _control group_ , you horny little miscreant.”

Kylo let out a soft groan, feeling his dick twitch against the warmth and pressure of Hux’s thigh. It was one of his favourite role plays because it involved equal measures of concern and scorn on the part of ‘Doctor’ Hux, who was always surprised personally and medically by Kylo’s priapism.

“Go on,” Hux urged. “So you want to do something similar, but set in the nineteenth century?”

“Yes please,” Kylo swallowed. The avid look on Hux’s face was making him feel overwhelmed. It was usually Hux who suggested the scenarios, Kylo would just add details or embellishments as they went along. He supposed most people would find it limiting, but there was something very comforting about their sexual framework – the fact that they could play a scenario over and over again with little tweaks and divergences.

“Kylo, focus.” Hux shifted, sitting astride Kylo’s hips with his hands flat over Kylo’s pectorals.

Kylo blinked. “Yes, I want – it’s like you’re one of those mad gland scientists, right? And you want to make the perfect man. And so you measure me and do all kinds of invasive tests.” He moistened his lips. “And you… you give me your serum and I’m overcome with animal lust and driven to onanism in your very lab.”

Hux laughed at this but there was a slightly deranged twinkle in his eye that betrayed his interest. “My delicate sensibilities are shocked, naturally. But I must stay and record the effects. For science.”

“I might menace you. Chase you into a corner and make you watch. Come all over your starched white coat.”

“You beast!” Hux gasped, slapping Kylo’s chest. “You monster!”

Kylo grasped hold of his hips and grinned. “A terrible beast of your own making, Dr Hux.”


	2. Corporate Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt 'when will Kylo's giant New Republican dick return from the war?'

The sweat dripped down Hux’s brow and he wiped it away with the back of an equally hot and clammy arm, leaning his head back against the rock crystal wall and breathing deeply of the mentholated steam that rose from the golden chafing dish set above a brazier. He heard the door open with a pressurized hiss and an unpleasant waft of cold air entered the warm, steamy cocoon. Hux frowned as he rearranged the small modesty towel across his lap. He opened his eyes and took stock of a massive figure moving through the hazy vapour – like an ape emerging from the Ferijian mists.

The man strode past where Hux sat and lifted the beaten bronzium ladle to pour water on the coals, which hissed and emitted even fiercer billows of steam, the heat intensifying. Hux contemplated the muscular behind and wondered which officer it belonged to; how the uniform breeches could have drawn so complete a veil over this striking monument. The mysterious figure finally turned and Hux groaned.

“Bloody hell, Ren. Can’t you find another relaxation suite? I was just about to achieve resting heartbeat for the first time in five standard years.”

Ren just gave him the sullen, pouty face, making his way over to the opposite bench.

“You know,” Hux continued, “just because nudity is permitted here does not mean that it’s mandatory. You might consider retaining some of your dignity before the inferior officers.”

“I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Ren returned. “My body is a weapon, a temple to the Dark Side.”

“Oh here we go. Yes, yes, I’m sure everyone will be struck with awe and terror by the sight of your big old cock and balls flopping around.”

“Oh,” said Ren, smirking, “you looked.”

“No,” Hux replied primly. “I was using ‘big’ as an amplifying adjective, not a descriptor.”

“I do have a big cock, for the record.” Ren leaned back; by the shifting of his shoulders (Hux would not look any lower), it was clear he was spreading his knees. “I don’t mind you looking. I’m sure you’ll be jealous, with whatever sad specimen you have hiding under that towel – along with your bright red bush. It must look like a forest fire under there.”

“Ren please,” Hux rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, wishing he believed in some benevolent deity that could intercede in cases like these.  _Oh Great Tarkin, he who refuseth to suffer fools, remove from my sight this mystical wanker._

“I bet that’s what you did at the academy, right?” Ren pressed. “Compared cocks?That’s what sad, repressed little soldiers do.”

Hux let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “Is this a fantasy of yours?”

“Did you pass muster, Hux?”

“Oh kriffing hell. That’s it, I’m going to give you the  _worst_ peer evaluation at the end of this retreat. ‘Kylo Ren, zero stars. Made me listen to his bizarre, sexualized ramblings. Bad at trust falls, both giving and receiving.’”  

“I’m not stopping you from leaving, you know. If you don’t want to talk and you don’t want to  _look_ …” Ren moistened his full bottom lip, looked through his eyelashes in an expression that was almost coquettish.

“I bet the thing is about as impressive as a paddy frog chipolata,” Hux mused.

“It’s not!” Ren sounded genuinely annoyed, an adolescent peevishness coming into his tone. ”Hux, look at it.”

“Stars preserve me!” Hux sighed, crossed his arms over his chest, and glanced down. “That’s…” he blinked, mouth hanging open.

Ren smirked. “It’s _big_ , right?” 

“Yes but is it  _meant_ to look like that? Seriously, what is all that business at the end? Were you in a disfiguring accident?”

Ren glanced down with a wild-eyed, paranoid look. “What? No, that’s normal. That’s my foreskin.”

“Your  _what_?”

“Show me yours.” Ren jerked his chin. “I bet it’s more or less the same.”

“You wish.” Hux decorously peeled the towel away. “See? My dick has its socks pulled up – a thing of beauty.”

Ren squinted through the steam. “Oh, you’re circumcised. They don’t do that where I come from.”

“The decadent New Republic? Well, well.” Hux tilted his head to one side, giving Ren’s penis a more leisurely appraisal. “So what does it do?”

“My foreskin?” Ren frowned. “It doesn’t really  _do_  anything. Covers my tip.”

“Can you feel anything during sex?”

“Yeah, it pulls back when I get hard.”

“Ah. Like the retractable shield on a cockpit.” Hux laughed – perhaps the mentholated vapors were making him hysterical. “Ha ha, cockpit!”

“I can show you,” Ren leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “All the… features. I have a suite upstairs.”

Hux dragged his eyes away from Ren’s crotch to give him a look of complete outrage. “A  _suite_? They told me expenses would only cover a standard double.”


	3. Rain on Dry Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the [To The Pure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6485509/chapters/14843863) 'verse.

Hux was sitting on a high stool next to a work-bench while blood-spiraling-in-green-water sliced up a pale, pitted root vegetable that Hux did not recognise. Truth be told, Hux had very little knowledge of food in its raw state and he found himself looking on with interest, though the view from inside his mask was a little dim, like wearing glareshades indoors.

Blood-spiraling-in-green-water had taken off their uniform gloves and tucked them into their belt, but had on in their place a pair of blue sterile kitchen gloves. The effect was rather hilarious – a Knight of Ren looking like catering staff.

“You don’t actually need to do all this, you know. I could easily have ready-to-eat meals sent up here for you all – I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than domestic drudgery.”

The mask turned towards Hux and then back again, the chopping sounds resumed, more insistent than before. Blood-spiraling-in-green-water was thinking of some sticky translucent substance that came from trees on a certain sub-tropical planet – an adhesive paste.

“No it’s not!” Hux retorted. “I’ll have you know the First Order nutritionists have perfectly calibrated the protein and vitamins in each portion. A much more precise business than… whatever it is you’re doing.”

The knight gathered up the vegetable slices and tipped them into a pot of some bubbling liquid. They stirred the broth with a forked stick and Hux pondered over the provenance of these implements: the knife was made of bone wrapped in a strip of hide; the stirrer of some silvery-coloured wood. He wondered if there was some mystical significance to the objects, or if the knights had simply cobbled together their kit on their many journeys across the galaxy. The pot that sat on the heating element looked like it might be a repurposed piece of shell casing.

Blood-spiraling-in-green-water hunkered down and opened a sliding panel. They removed a stack of metal mess kits from the cupboard. These were rectangular in shape, with rounded corners, and contained dividers that marked off the separate portions. The knight dealt all eight of them out onto the work bench and began to portion out the meal: into the right hand panel (the largest of the three) went a serving of some glutinous porridge of pale brown grain. The simmered root in its thick glossy sauce went into the lower left-hand panel. The top right panel got a serving of shredded orange and purple vegetable matter, topped with a curl of dark green seaweed, which the knight painstakingly arranged with two sticks that had been lashed together to approximate tweezers.

When the meals were all as near to identical as to be to the knight’s satisfaction, blood-spiraling-in-green-water stacked the tins one on top of the other and carried them from the kitchen. Hux followed at a distance and watched as they walked along the corridor and deposited a meal before each of the other knights' private quarters; a regular, mechanical ducking down like a factory droid.

The fact that the knights did not eat together had shocked Hux at first (though of course in a sense they were always together). Their quarters were the only places they ever removed their helmets, as far as Hux could tell, and therefore the only location where eating and drinking could reasonably occur. He had asked bell-tolling-over-a-desolate-landscape about it; if it was taboo for them to remove their helmets before one another, but the knight had shown him a double flash of light and a piece of ragged-edged fabric which Hux thought meant  _incomplete_.

Blood-spiraling-in-green-water returned with the last two meals, one in each hand. They placed these on the low table at the centre of the living area (a caf table, in its original purpose – but the occupants of the suite had no interest in chat and hot beverages).

“Thank-you,” said Hux, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. The knight clasped their hands together and gazed at him for a long moment. They were thinking of a piece of pink glass rubbed edgeless by the motion of the sea – Hux did not know how to parse the image into speech, but it seemed to him one of affection.

The knight turned and went off down the corridor towards their own quarters. Hux looked at the two remaining meals and approached the table, folding his legs under him awkwardly to kneel, then he took off his helmet and set it next to him on the floor. He lifted the little carved spoon from the utensil slot in the meal tray and inspected it – imperfect, a thing made by hand. He wondered what kind of tree it had come from, and from what far-off planet. The idea of using a utensil that had been in other people’s mouths (and not even been run through an industrial sterilizing unit) would have horrified him, once.

He was still a little wary of the food and the effect it might have on his system, calibrated as it was to institutional blandness. The porridge was alright – a little sweet with a sort of malty depth. He ate that first to delay having to deal with the mystery flora. As he chewed he glanced surreptitiously at the pristine meal placed opposite him. It was Kylo Ren’s serving.

Hux thought it both sentimental and wasteful in the extreme that the knights insisted on making their leader meals even in his absence – even Hux, with his limited mystical sensibilities and understanding of their connection, could feel the stretch of the distance between them. Ren’s presence in Hux’s mind was currently as twinkling and remote as the light of a star.

Hux watched the steam wreathing up from the food and found it reminded him of rolling storm clouds. Just when had he become so fanciful, he wondered, chewing with determination a strip of something challengingly fibrous.

He thought of rain falling on the cracked, dry ground. It was an image the knights had shown him once and it meant something different, then – but now it meant  _come back to me_.


	4. Sandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of [I Am Where I Think Not](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8211526) for the prompt 'role-reversal in the adult baby 'verse.'

Hux shifted in Ren’s arms, uncomfortably hot and disliking the way the sweat from their exertions was sealing them together, but also too sated to move. The back of his head was resting against Ren’s chest, so when Ren spoke his low, rough voice seemed to come both from above and around Hux.

“Did you give it any more thought?”

Hux sighed. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

“We don’t have to.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Ren tugged the damp edges of Hux’s hair. “Alright. Tell me what you think.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know where to begin. I’m not like you – I don’t have some exquisitely embroidered fantasy that I can just… unfold.”

“Ok. Can you think about what would make you feel good? Comforted.”

Hux breathed out slowly. “I like… I like the fabrics. I like all the colours and the textures.”

“Would you like me to dress you?”

“Is that stupid? It doesn’t seem like much.”

“We would need to start small, especially if you don’t know what you like.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s fair enough.”

“What would you like to wear? My clothes wouldn’t fit you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what age are you? Are you a boy or a girl or neither?”

“Wait, I can change my gender in this?”

Ren chuckled. “Of course. It’s expressing some part of you that you can’t usually show.”

“What do you think I am?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Yes you can. You know me – you’ve seen inside my head.”

“Hux, it’s your decision.”

“I  _know_  that. Just tell me what you think.”

Ren paused for a moment and Hux felt a hum of consideration against the top of his head. “I think you’re a girl. Older than me – a toddler. You like pretty things, you like everything to be neat and dainty and just for you.”

Hux felt his throat go tight. He rolled over and felt Ren shift to put an arm around him. Ren’s hand rested on his head, the thumb stroking down the length of Hux’s sideburn. “You want someone to tell you that it’s alright to be that way.”

Hux nodded, closing his eyes. His answer, when he was finally able to get it out, was too quiet and too high: “Yes.”

*~*~*

The dress was a simple thing – almost like a medcenter gown, but with a thin band of lace along the neckline and at the end of each puffed sleeve. It was a very pale lavender colour with delicate sprigs of flowers stitched along the hemline. Hux kneaded it between his fingers and felt the smooth, starched chaughaine and the rougher texture of the embroidery thread. Ren was kneeling behind him, fingers working at the tiny pearlescent buttons. Hux could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric.

“So pretty,” Ren said, finishing off the last button. He stroked the length of Hux’s shoulders with his thumbs. “A perfect little doll.”

Hux turned and held out his closed fist.

“What’s that you have, baby?”

Hux uncurled his fingers and revealed the hair clip sitting in the centre of his palm. It was a piece of plastic in the shape of a bow, covered in tiny purple crystals, the facets seeming to twinkle as they caught the light.

“Did you choose that all by yourself?” Ren asked, stroking Hux’s cheek. Hux nodded, feeling his lips push outwards into a pout. “You’re so clever. Here, let me put it in your beautiful hair.” Ren’s fingers smoothed the hair above Hux’s left ear and he felt the cool metal slide into place, the slight pinching as it gripped.

“There,” Ren said, taking his hand away. “Beautiful. Do you want to see yourself?”

Hux clenched his hands in the fabric draped over his knees, biting his bottom lip. He nodded and made a phatic, eager sound.

Ren got up and went off to another part of the room. He returned with a long-handled mirror – it was baby pink and its frame had a lace effect, just like the edges of Hux’s dress. Ren knelt behind him again, raising the mirror with the silvered surface turned away. His free hand stroked the edges of Hux’s hair, pushing the longest stands back behind the shell of his ear. “Are you ready, baby?”

Hux nodded, though he wasn’t sure he was. Kylo turned the mirror and Hux blinked against the momentary glare of the reflected lights. He saw a face that was oval and a little feminine; a pale throat decorated with lace; soft, clean hair and the winking of the tiny bow. Hux’s hands rose up with a gasp.

“See how perfect you are? Hmm? Such a beautiful girl, Sandy.”


	5. Knight vs Kylo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the [Savages!verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/416673) for the prompt: 'Kylo meets Knight'

Kylo does not have to wait long in the antechamber: his name is not on the shuttle’s manifest, but the First Order administration is tight-knit; they know who he is. He can hear hurried footsteps, beeping comms, low murmurs of consternation. As the staffers run about beyond the closed doors he catches thoughts that fizz and sputter like fireworks.  _What is he doing here? Is it a test? Is it a disaster?_

The doors open and a man emerges – one who is vastly calmer than those who surround him; curious, but not alarmed. A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair going silver around the temples. He is not in a uniform but rather something closer to what a senator might wear – grey trousers and a tunic, and over it a sleeveless robe with a high collar that stands up at the back.

“Good afternoon,” the man says, coming to a halt before Kylo. “I’m Governor Knight.”

“I know who you are.” Kylo replies. Erril Knight blinks, perhaps startled by the harsh distortion of the mask. One of his pupils is enlarged and it makes him look… odd, interesting. His whole face is interesting – the features all a little asymmetrical. When Hux imagines Knight he does not look like this – not so clear. Hux remembers the dark hair and the freckles, he doesn’t care to remember details.

Knight clasps his hands behind his back, the stance he slips into betraying his military training. “How can I help you, Commander Ren? Your requested supplies were, I understood, all packed and ready as ordered.”

“I know Hux,” Kylo says, wanting to see the other man’s reaction. ”General Hux.”

“Ah,” Knight says. “How is he?”

It’s a ridiculous question, Kylo thinks with a scowl. Then again, perhaps not – perhaps it’s very clever, designed to divert the conversation into pleasantries. Kylo is not ready to relinquish his mystery or control. “The others have fared rather better than you, Governor Knight. You were his closest confidant, and yet the one left furthest behind. Why do you think that is?”

A flash of emotion – a chink opens up and that is all Kylo needs to push his way into Knight’s memories. He sees a rooftop against a bitter cold sky; sees Hux smooth-faced and avidly cruel, with a cigarra in the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t think I’m so badly off, all things considered,” Knight smiles – his teeth are crooked, as Kylo’s are. He is not handsome and Kylo would almost prefer it if he were. He is thinking of his family now – two boisterous children; a wife who is strong and tenacious and a little bit ruthless (though not with him – never with him). He will tell her of this meeting later and she will say something witty about it. The thought is so warm and complacent that it unsettles Kylo, forcing him to retreat back into his own head.

“You’ll give him my best wishes,” Knight adds cheerfully. “Won’t you?”


	6. The Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the [Savages!verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/416673) for the prompts 'other people's reactions to Trulaw/Cord', 'Knight's family life', and 'moar Yungkai'.

Lina weaves a path through the guests until she makes her way into the hall and glances up at the display screen. “Erril,” she calls back over her shoulder, “your friends are here.”

It is unclear whether her husband as heard her, so Lina reluctantly goes for the door herself. Erril’s academy friends are all what she would describe as  _difficult_ : strange, sad, broken people who stand out in any gathering and require a certain amount of management. While Erril does not actually disagree with her when she points out the folly of continuing to spend time with people who remind him of the darkest and most chaotic time in his life, he remains unmoved. His loyalty comes with an edge of grim fatalism: his friends are his friends and he considers this inescapable.  

When she opens the door she finds Alten Trulaw standing in the doorway wearing a suit of glossy velvoid patterned in deep jewel tones, a present balanced on his hip. He is tall and slender, with a fine-boned, androgynous face that is somehow eerie, drawing the eye almost unwillingly over its planes.

“Sorry we’re late!” Trulaw says, stepping forward to touch her shoulder. “Hello darling. Stars, you look fabulous – I can’t wear maroon at all, I’m sickeningly jealous.”

“Hello Alten, you look well,” Lina kisses Trulaw’s cheek and then glances over his shoulder to where Chanyu Yungkai stands in the corridor, staring at his own boots with a look of abstraction. He is wearing some kind of sleeveless duster coat with many pockets and on his shoulder there perches a large, malevolent-looking lizard with red and orange scales. “Hello Chanyu. What the hell is that?”

Trulaw rolls his eyes. “That’s Armitage, Chanyu’s significant other.”

“He gets separation anxiety.” Yungkai explains as the lizard hisses and wraps its tail around his throat.

“ _You_  get separation anxiety,” retorts Trulaw.

“The last time I left him alone all day he ate a photonic cable and I had to take him to the vet.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave your living area looking like a scrapyard, did you ever think of that?”

Lina frowns, narrowing her eyes at the flame-coloured reptile as Yungkai tries to remove the tail slowly constricting his airway. “Is it… I mean, does it bite?”

“Only me,” says Yungkai, a kind of deep world-weariness in his voice. “Only me.”

“Anyway,” Trulaw gestures to the large, gaily wrapped box on his hip, “where is the birthday boy?”

“In the kitchen, I think,” Lina moves back into the house and beckons them to follow. She only gets half way down the hall before the buzzer sounds again. “Go ahead. Second door on the right.”

This time when she answers the door she finds a huge man standing before her, blocking out the light that spills down the corridor from the viewport by the stairs. He is wearing a dove grey uniform with black banding around the sleeves and trimming the three-quarter length cape that hangs over one shoulder. One black reflective eye rotates audibly in its socket, the light glancing red off its surface.

“Marion,” Lina says, “You didn’t tell us you got promoted.”

Cord grunts and lifts one shoulder. “Yeah. I’m on NEC-52 now.”

“52?” Lina blinks, incredulous. “Wow, you wanted to go back there?”

“That’s where the job came up.”  

“Well… congratulations on the promotion!” Lina makes a note to look up the salary later – the Order reflects its priorities in its pricing and there has been a shift of late. Everything is expanding in weapons manufacturing; education is taking a cut. Short term goals being valued over long-term investment bodes ill, she thinks – it’s a symptom of panic.

Wordlessly, Cord pulls out a bottle of wine from beneath the cape and offers it to her.

“Oh, thank-you,” Lina looks at the label – aged, effervescent – and wonders where Cord got it; how he would know to choose such a thing.

“Is Trulaw here?” he asks.

“Yes, he arrived here just a minute ago with Chanyu and that thing… ‘Armitage’.”

“Hux is here?” Cord looks surprised.

“No, not the general. The lizard.”

“Oh, that.” Cord turns slightly to get his shoulders through the narrow doorway.

Lina leads him through to the kitchen where Erril is leaning against the central island with Vaila on his hip, letting her pull at the ribbon on the large, gaily-wrapped parcel that Trulaw brought with him. Yungkai is nowhere to be seen, which makes Lina slightly uneasy. Last time he visited he reprogrammed their entire home security system, claiming it was ‘buggy’ and ‘inefficient’. Lina had not been amused to discover this while standing outside the house, alarms blaring, as the console refused the old eight-digit code.

Trulaw laughs at something Vaila has said, pushing her chubby cheek with one knuckle. She is wearing her favourite red  _Captain Power: Wild Space Commander_ flight suit, bedazzled with her hero’s insignia over the breast pocket; her dark hair is trying to escape the tie, the finer strands sticking up in the air with static electricity.

Trulaw turns his head and spies Cord, putting his hands up to his mouth in an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Oh my stars, it’s Commandant Cord! No, no, stop there. Give us a dramatic twirl of the cape – I never thought I’d see the day.”

Cord shows no sign of having heard this teasing remark. He wraps an arm around Trulaw and pulls him into a half-resisting kiss, then pivots him back to his former position, leaving a heavy arm draped around his shoulder.

“Oh hell, Marion,” Trulaw scolds, looking up with a half-fond expression, “won’t you ever learn subtlety?”

“Uhhh,” says Erril, “that’s new.”

“Reasonably,” Trulaw fingers the edge of the cloak, feeling the stitching of its hem.

“I thought you were still married,” Lina says.

“Gracious, no! Wikk’s gone off to Danteel. That’s the end of that chapter.”

“Wait,” Erril frowns at Cord. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah – Nik.”

Trulaw raises an eyebrow. “She’s fine with it – more than fine: as Marion tells it it was largely her idea.” He drapes the cape more to his liking. “We are very modern.”

Erril’s brow furrows. “So are… all three of you going to get married?”

Trulaw takes a sip of his drink and almost chokes. “I’m still paying off the last one. In retrospect, perhaps I should have listened to Wikk when he said riding in on a litter pulled by ornamental murra was a bit too much.”

“No, no,” says Erril, effortfully, “I mean it was very… dramatic.” Vaila starts to exclaim with excitement as she finally manages to pull the paper from the box. “Oh, is that a T-4a?”

Trulaw glances down at the picture on the front of the model kit. “You don’t have it already, do you?”

“No! Thank-you, it’s wonderful. Look Vaila, it’s a lambda-class shuttle. Your grandpa Knight used to maintain those. We should show Herne – where is your brother?”

Vaila answers the question in a loud, dramatic voice, but because she has her thumb stuck in the corner of her mouth, only the last word – ‘rebel’ – is intelligible.

“What’s that, darling?” Trulaw asks.

“She says he’s a  _foul, contending rebel_.” Erril chuckles indulgently. “It’s from that show she watches.”

“Captain Power!” Vaila says, putting the palm of her hand over the decal on her pocket in a reverend salute. “She can do it!”

Erril puts her down. “Go find your brother, Captain.”

*~*~*

Yungkai picks listlessly at some appetizers laid out on a table and avoids catching anyone’s eye as he throws back a glass of some red-coloured punch that he suspects is non-alcoholic. Armitage shifts position, climbing across his shoulders and giving a listless hiss.

“Oh you’re bored now, are you?” Yungkai mutters. “It’s alright for you – always pandered to, aren’t you? Never wondering where the next fat grub is coming from.” He wanders over to a long couch where an adolescent boy sits in front of a viewscreen using a four-button pad to move around a set of small green and white icons. Yungkai sits down next to him and squints at the screen, discerning that the icons are stylized two-dimensional representations of stormtroopers, fighter tanks, assault ships, and the like.

“Hello Uncle Chanyu,” says the adolescent.

“I’m not your uncle.”

“Dad says it’s polite to call my elders that. Cool lizard.”

“It’s not.”

“Not a lizard?”

“Not cool.”

“Why did you get it, then?”

“Guy owed me some money for some… work. He threw the lizard in, said it was valuable. I think that’s what he said, my Bocce isn’t great and the words for ‘valuable’ and ‘curse’ are really similar.” Yungkai watches the icons being shuffled and settled into place on a grid opposite another battalion of figures that look like droids. The boy presses another button and the screen wipes, moving into a primitive animation sequence depicting a battle.

“What’s this called?”

“ _Assault Strategy: Geonosis_.”

“Looks boring as shit.”

“What?” the boy frowns, looking affronted. “No way, I’m beating Sell five-three today. One more and she owes me a choc-tab.”

“You’re playing this with a friend? So you’re connected to the HoloNet?”

“Yeah.”

“Bet it’s a limited connection.”

“So?”

“So I can fix that.” Yungkai begins to rifle through the pockets of his coat for a slicer chip, struggling with the many tiny fasteners. He feels a sharp tug on his sleeve and looks down into the curious, upturned face of a little girl. “What?”

“Is that a real thing?” the little girl asks, pointing to his shoulder.

“What?”

“Yeah,” the boy answers. “That’s a lizard, Vaila. It’s a pet.”

“Is it a  _real_ thing?” Yungkai repeats wonderingly. “Good question.”


	7. Cord is Bad at Roleplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the [Savages!verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/416673) and there's no excuse for this, no-one even prompted it.

“Agh, what the frakk are you doing?” Trulaw yelps when he feels strong hands bracketing his waist, squeezing so tightly as to almost force his internal organs up into his chest cavity.

The pressure releases and he hears Cord grunting as he flops back onto the bed. “Wanted to see if I could get my hands all the way round your waist. I can with Nik but she’s like one-forty-five tall.”

“Sorry I’m not quite as svelte as your girlfriend.”

“She’s buff, not slim. She can do more stomach crunches than me.”

“I’m surprised you’re able to live with that, Marion.”

Cord makes an ambiguous sound, as if he’s not quite decided.

Trulaw turns his head and looks the other man over where he lies spread out over the pale blue bedspread like a First Order pin-up, scars and abs perfectly defined in the light of the cityscape coming through the large picture window. “I have no idea what you find so enthralling about exercise. Sweating is so undignified, and all those bulging muscles it gets you… just awful.”

Cord snorts in amusement. “Sorry I don’t look like all your exes.”

“Oh what? You think I have a type?”

“Yeah, you like them chubby. That’s your type – nice guy with a soft belly and a big ass.”

“That’s not my—” Trulaw pauses and frowns as he mentally enumerates. “Well, there is such a thing as  _coincidence_. Anyway, if I have that preference, it’s hardly a surprise after  _our_  upbringing. There’s nothing like rubbing up against a plump bottom to remind you that rationing is at an end.”

“Yeah, bet that’s nice,” Cord agrees. “I’ve got bruises on my thighs from your fucking hipbones.”

Trulaw laughs, leans back and rubs the flat plane of his stomach. “Do you know, I haven’t put on even a kilo since school?”

“That’s fucked up. I put on like thirty-five.” Cord puts one hand behind his head, flexing a little – perhaps unconsciously.

“All muscle, most of it in your head.” A thought hits Trulaw and he almost laughs out loud with the sudden glee of it. “Wait,” he raises one finger and slides off the bed. “I have an amazing idea. Stay there.”

Cord regards him through half-lidded eyes: he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. 

Wrapping his silk robe tighter about him, Trulaw retreats into his dressing room and rotates the wardrobe fixtures for a good few minutes until he finds the collection he is looking for. He lets the silk slip from his shoulders and steps into a much rougher fabric, pulling the drab, pocketed trousers up and zipping them, shrugging into the jacket. He has, it seems, gotten a little taller in the intervening years – there’s a centimetre of skin showing between the top and bottom parts of the outfit. This is even better, really: it makes it look  _disreputable_ , like a stripper’s approximation of some sort of official uniform. He finds the cap that went with his old dress whites and sets it on his head at a jaunty angle.

Trulaw then returns to the bedroom, slipping through the gap of the door and immediately leaning back against it so it shuts with an arresting click. “You wanted to see me, Commandant?”

Cord rolls over onto his front on the bed and looks up at him. He shakes his head and lets out a groan. “Take that off.”

Trulaw grins, pulling down the zipper on his jacket. “Oh Commandant, I do so want to keep my perfect record, but really, this is a bit forward, what with me being so young, and inexperienced – a delicate flower, really – and you so big and powerful and in command.”

“I mean it – take that shit off.” Cord sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and gives him a very stern look.

“Oh well, if it’s an order I suppose I must obey, sir.” Trulaw gives a cocky little salute.

Cord groans again. “What the fuck is  _that_  supposed to be?” He mimics Trulaw’s action.

“It’s a salute, sir.”

“You’re supposed to be a senior and that’s what you call a salute? You must be a transfer because you sure as shit didn’t come up in  _my_  academy.”

“The captains do insist I need a lot of correction, sir – a firm hand, you might say.” Trulaw turns around and braces his palms against the wall, tilting his hips outwards in a clear invitation.

“Yeah, go on then – you can start with twenty push-ups.”

“What the hell, Marion?” Trulaw glares at him over one shoulder. “I know you don’t have much of an imagination, but this is literally the most basic role play of all time. I’m a naughty cadet – you’re supposed to spank me for my insolence.”

“If you’re a cadet drop and give me twenty. That’s realism.”

“It’s not supposed to be…” Trulaw throws his head back and sighs. “Look… what exactly must I do to get you to take me over your knee?”

“Well take off the uniform, for a start – really doesn’t do it for me. Also, do a proper salute – that shit’s just embarrassing.”

Trulaw walks towards him and comes to a halt with his heels together, rolling his eyes as he salutes again, but holding his arm stiffer this time.

Cord’s brow furrows in a pained expression. “Weak. How did you even graduate?”

Trulaw lowers himself into Cord’s lap, winding an arm around his broad shoulders. “Oh, because I was beautiful and charming and everyone loved me. There’s another thing that hasn’t changed.”

Cord grunts and tugs the cap down over Trulaw’s eyes. “Vain, too.”

A big, warm hand palms Trulaw’s ass through the rough canvas and he squirms. “So just to be clear,” he continues, tilting his head back so he can glimpse Cord through the gap beneath the hat brim, “no to uniform, but yes to spanking?”

The world tilts and his cap goes tumbling off as he is bodily lifted and deposited onto the mattress. A crushing weight bears down on him – the brunt of the pressure at his shoulder and hips – and he laughs breathlessly and squirms.

A rough voice against his ear: “You’re in big trouble now, cadet.”


	8. Tag Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another [To The Pure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6485509) 'verse one.

Hux struggled to unstick his foot from where it had been swallowed down by the mud. A mosquito-like insect of prehistoric proportions buzzed close to his head and he waved it away with his arm. “Wait you bastards!” he yelled out, his righteous indignation somewhat muffled by the mask. Condensation was gathering inside the visor and he could see even less than usual; he smacked at the release and then pulled the wretched thing off his head.

“Hello!” Hux shouted, sending up a flock of roosting birds from the crooked branches of a moss-draped tree. “I’m stuck!”

Some way ahead of him in the thick vegetation, the Knights of Ren all halted their progress. They did not look back at Hux but rather turned inwards for a silent conference. Hux could see that they were thinking about pieces of straw cut to differing lengths and he scowled. Finally, dead-master-in-the-snow turned and hefted their long-range blaster rifle onto one shoulder, trudging back towards Hux and holding out a hand, palm upraised. Hux felt the oddest sensation as he was tugged directly upwards to hover a few centimetres above the ground. He dropped his helmet and heard it hit the mud with a wet smack. Dead-master-in-the-snow returned him to the surface slowly and sent him an image of a clump of grey spiky grass. Hux staggered as he tried to get a foothold on one of these masses, which the knight was telling him were the most solid ground.

Hux bent down and picked up his helmet. Wiping at the surface just smeared the mud around in grey-green spirals and he sighed, long-sufferingly.

“Put your face back on,” Ren called.

“No – I can’t see a bloody thing.”

“Well, don’t complain to me when a blood fly sucks out one of your eyeballs.”

When Hux caught up with the group they closed in around him silently. He felt a hand on the small of his back and looked up to see the dented faceplate of burned-out-shell-of-a-village, who was sending him the thought of a broken and tarnished crown, its pieces hidden deep in the ground, close but never touching. This meant something complex about defeat and the nature of time and was, Hux gathered, supposed to be comforting. 

Finally, they reached the edge of a deep river. Ren laughed and raised his arms. “I told you,” he said exultantly. “It’s just as the map showed. The shrine is beyond the eastern bend.”

“Great,” Hux said. “Maybe we’ll find some broken pottery with some scribbles on it. Won’t that be exciting? Maybe we’ll find a crystal.”

Bell-tolling-over-a-desolate-landscape reached over and took Hux’s helmet from his hand. They bent over and dipped it, upturned, into the clear water, then lifted the helmet and turned it back over. Hux watched as the gloved hand moved in slow circles until the mud was all washed away and the embedded stars shone bright.


	9. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another [Savages!verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/416673) piece, for the anon who wanted some Knight and Hux action.

“Now, now, settle down, settle down,” Major Sere calls out, frowning as he rifles through a box of recording rods, squinting at the labels.

“How old do you think he is?” Trulaw says, leaning against the climbing bars, hands slipped around a rung as if tied there. “Ninety? One hundred? Old enough to be retired, certainly. What did he do to get himself sent to this hell-hole?”

“Probably had his pension cut off when the Empire fell,” Saff replies, sitting cross-legged on the gym floor.

“Poor old stick.”

Saff hums in agreement. “Probably had a nice little bungalow somewhere in the mid-rim. And now here he is.”

Trulaw tisks. “His reward for a lifetime of service? Prodding a group of sniggering, sullen-faced boys through the motions of a waltz.”

Sere jams a rod into the amplifier and it crackles to life with a sonorous voice giving a speech about the Battle of Murkhana. Hux thinks he recognises it as that of Wilhuff Tarkin. Sere frowns and yanks the rod back out again. He swaps it for one that plays a burst of jizz – prompting derisive hoots from a few of the onlookers. Finally he finds the right recording: a sedate synth-string piece in triple time. There is a low cheer and some sarcastic claps.

“Have you got your partners?” Sere calls, waving a cane aloft.

“Yes,” come several voices, out of sync.

“Alright, take your places, come, come. Spread out. Stop shoving – I hope you don’t plan to do that with the ladies.”

Hux meets Knight’s eyes and jerks his chin towards the expanse of floor. They walk out and stand waiting for further instructions.

Sere climbs onto a box so that he can be seen, tottering a little. “Now. You’ll need a leader and a follower. Decide that among yourselves.”

“You’re a follower, Knight,” Hux tells him, smirking.

“Ok,” Knight just blinks at him, stony-faced. Hux sighs – it’s hard to glean any satisfaction from taunting someone who was born without a sense of humour.

Sere’s reedy, querulous voice rises above the din once more: “Alright, settle, settle! Now, you stand face to face,” he raises his arms horizontal before his chest, palms facing to indicate the placement of the dancers. “Left hands clasped and out to the side. No no – like this. Right hands – well now leader, your right hand is on your partner’s side, yes just under the arm there; follower, yours is on your partner’s shoulder.”

The cadets shuffle into position, some making faces at each other or mock-wrestling and kicking one another’s shins.

Sere’s voice sounds strained. “Now you should be offset.  _Offset_ , do you understand?” When the cadets look at him blankly, Sere tuts and shakes his head. “Let’s have a demonstration. You two, what are your names?”

“Berkal, sir,” says Eli.

“And your partner?”

“Also Berkal, sir,” says Est.

“Good, well Berkal and Berkal, let’s straighten up that posture.” Sere climbs down off his box, slowly and unsteadily, and pulls the twins into a space at the front and centre of the room. He raises their left arms, tucks their hands into the right places. “Now, each of you take half a step to the left, to each of your lefts – there, offset, you see – so you don’t trample each other. Alright!” Sere waves his stick in a twirling motion, “into position.”

Hux wipes his hand off on his trousers before clasping Knight’s, which is warm and calloused. It feels extremely odd to be in such close proximity. The posture requires looking forward and Hux tries to stare past Knight’s ear, rather than concentrate on his face; that one blown pupil. Knight has a strange quality of to-be-looked-at-ness: his asymmetry draws the eye, as does the porcelain colour of his skin – he is not white and pink like Hux, or subject to fluctuations due to mood (Hux always goes unfortunately red when angry), the dark flecks of his moles like a galaxy in negative. His hand flexes on Hux’s side and Hux has to fight the urge to flinch.

“Now,” Sere announces when the hubbub has died down. “Waltzing is very easy. All you have to do is count to three. You can all count to three, can’t you? Yes?” Sere embarks on a rambling explanation of the steps that has all the cadets treading on one another and cursing. Notable exceptions are the Berkal twins, to whom synchronisation comes easily, and Trulaw and Saff, who laugh and glide with unselfconscious ease, already having mastered how to turn in a wide, elegant circle as they move – though Sere hasn’t even gotten to that part yet. Hux hates them and is gratified to see he and Knight are not the worst of the partnerships: Yungkai is hopping on one foot and muttering at Cord, who looks on impassively, arms crossed.

There is derisive laughter from somewhere behind him and someone – Hux thinks it’s Haarling, plants an elbow in the small of his back and hooks a foot around his ankle. Hux goes pitching forward and Knight catches him like a swooning maiden, arms closing around Hux’s back to drag him upright. Hux sucks in a gasp and in the midst of the clumsy grapple Knight turns his face at just the wrong moment and their chapped lips brush. There is an electric sensation – warmth and the horrifying feeling of intimacy – Hux jerks out of the embrace like a fish leaping from a net. He twists in an almost graceful movement as he falls. The floor rushing up to meet him seems to take an inordinately long time but when he finally lands everything bursts back up to speed – he is aware of the pain all along his hip and thigh, the din and the figures looming and weaving above him.  

“Gentlemen,” says Sere sternly, tapping his cane on the bowed floor. “Ballroom dancing is not a contact sport!”


End file.
